


(Let's Go) Dancing

by wakandan_wardog



Series: Wardog's Tony Stark Bingo 2019 [5]
Category: Center Stage (2000), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Awkward Flirting, Ballet, Boys In Love, Center Stage AU, Dancing, Gossip, Idiots in Love, Minor Character(s), Multi, Mutual Pining, Off-screen Relationship(s), Pre-Relationship, Rumors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-29 22:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19840291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wakandan_wardog/pseuds/wakandan_wardog
Summary: This is a Marvel Universe-Center Stage Fusion AU that no one asked for and everyone is getting anyway. Tony dances for the American Ballet Company as their featured ballerino, performing under the name Antonio Carbonell. James and Steve are two of the ABC's newest students, and James gets a chance to meet his crush on his first day. Just his luck, Tony is even better in person. (Natalia may have been setting them up all along.)This is a Fill for Tony Stark Bingo 2019S1: Dancing





	(Let's Go) Dancing

“I can’t believe it,” Echoes around the room, a repeated phrase that is swiftly losing meaning. “I just can’t believe it, Sharon.” 

“So you’ve said,” Sharon replies in a bored tone, shaking her head as she considers the sprawled body of the speaker. “Multiple times. But you read the paper, Steve.” 

“Yeah, but I can’t believe it.” 

Steve Rogers remains flopped out on the carpet, blue eyes distant as they gaze up at the ceiling. It could be any day after a heavy rehearsal, t-shirts are pretty standard wear for Steve, except he’s wearing regular trousers rather than the usual black or charcoal tights that signify he’s spent hours dancing. He might be dead, except for the fact that the blush on his cheekbones has expanded to his ears and is now creeping down the strong column of his throat. Give enough time it’ll be down past his collarbones to his chest, a great deal of which can currently be seen due to the deep v-neck of his shirt. There’s a battered leather jacket slung over the arm of the couch above his head, and heavy black boots on his feet. 

One would think he was ready to head out the door and jump on a motorcycle, except for the fact that he was very clearly having some sort of existential crises. 

The sight of six feet of American muscle sprawled over the floor of the apartment it a tempting one, but Sharon Carter is the first to admit that ship has long since sailed. She doesn’t even have the energy to invest in a good cry about it, considering the slip of paper clenched in her fist. Steve has been accepted to ABA, as has his best friend, James. 

Sharon? Well, Sharon will have to try again next year, unless her mother talked her into another career by then. A nursing career is looking better all the time. 

“Anyone who even matters in American Ballet went to that academy,” Sharon points out, smoothing the paper before she sets it gently down on the coffee table nearest to where Steve is sprawled. She glances at the seemingly still paralyzed dancer and then gives a leisurely shrug, sweeping her shoulder-length blonde waves up into a bun. “And they want you. You should be thrilled, this is as good as an opportunity as one can hope for. The school feeds right into the company. And even if the American Dance Company doesn’t want to keep you, the showcase leads to offers from all the premier schools in the country. You’ll perform in front of thousands, and one or more of the schools will have job offers for you afterward. ” 

“So you’ve said,” Steve grumbles, remaining on his back and staring up at the ceiling. He lifts both hands to scrub at his face and hair, half-muffling his reply. “Go ahead, tell us my favorite fact again.”

“Is it that they only take twelve people in the country?” James cuts in with a muffled groan, stepping into the room and throwing his duffle at their feet. “I bet it’s that ABA takes only twelve people in the country. And that we should definitely feel lucky for being those twelve. Seriously, Share, of course, we feel lucky. Or at least I feel lucky, and Steve’s temporarily having a mid-life crisis in his early twenties. But we know that we made it in the door on a very shortlist, and you’ve said it a thousand times. We’ve heard it a thousand times. Can we move on?”

“The fact that you both got in and I didn’t is going to make me bitter for at least the next year, Barnes,” Sharon snarls, blue eyes narrowed in warning. “Just let me have this, alright?”

“Alright, alright,” James shrugs. “Steve, I know you want to make a good impression and not take the bikes up just yet… So I’ve called the cab and it’ll be here any second. Please tell me you’re packed and not just having your ongoing existential crisis still? We still have to get to the dorms and move in.”

“I’m packed, I’m packed,” Steve promises on a groan. “Why did I let you talk me into this again?”

“Talk him into auditioning and getting accepted to the greatest school of ballet in the country,” Sharon mutters, folding her arms over her chest and cocking her hips. “Gosh, that just sounds dreadful.” 

She’s less than surprised when the two of them ignore her, but she feels moderately better after speaking up in the first place. 

“I didn’t really talk you into this one, buddy, Natalia did.” James grins, tugging straightening his black leather jacket and tucking a strand of chin-length bronze hair back behind his ear. Instead of a v-neck tee he’s wearing a charcoal-colored henley, but the thin fabric clings to his muscles and doesn’t leave much to the imagination. His jeans are equally flattering, though they’re not nearly as form-fitting as the tights they usually dance in. “Come on man, we gotta go. You want to make a good impression, don’tcha? If you keep thinkin’ about it, you’re just gonna get all gross and covered in fear sweat. You know how you do.”

Steve makes a groaning sound like he’s dying. “Now I’m totally relaxed, thanks, Buck.” 

“Anything for you, Stevie, anything for you.” 

Sharon watches them bicker in amusement, shaking her head. “If you don’t find me a hot ballerino to sweep me off my feet, consider our friendship forfeit.” 

“Doesn’t that sound just _awful_ ,” James drawls, smirking when she flips him the bird. “I’m calling first dibs on any hot ballerinos present, and you can just deal with it.” 

Sharon glares at him, fighting down a smile. “There’s a reason Steve’s my favorite, jerk.” 

“Darlin’, that dream ride for you and me ain’t never gonna happen,” James replies in a voice that’s syrupy-sweet before going utterly flat. “You just be glad you had a chance to be in the saddle with this one over here, as far as I’m concerned this is a no-ride zone.” 

She tries not to but Sharon inevitably cracks, laughing out loud and making a dismissive sweeping gesture with one arm. “Alright, alright. Please pick him up off the floor and get out of this apartment.” 

“Whatever you say, ma’am.” 

*

James has managed to convince Steve that it’s in his best interest to take two of his bags into the building in search of their dorm. It gives James a minute without his best friend nearly hyperventilating in his ear, and allows him peace to deal with unloading the rest of their gear and paying the cabbie. He’s already handed over the money and is in the process of hauling the last bag out of the trunk when the roar of a motorcycle purrs into silence at his back. Considering that the cab is idling across space for three cycles James hurries along with a wince. Slamming the trunk and giving the cab a quick tap, he waves the driver off before turning around to make his excuses. 

Antonio Carbonell, one of the most well known male dancers to grace the stage, is striding toward him. The slighter man is dressed in fitted dark jeans but a looser fitting tee beneath a black leather jacket, his boots heavy and more suited that the motorcycle he just climbed off than the stage he usually dominates. It suits him, all too well. He looks like he just strolled out of one of James’s fantasies, or maybe he’s just inspiring new ones every moment. 

_‘Yeah, definitely that last one.’_

Abruptly, James Barnes is a series of regrets. Why did he think sending Steve into the building by himself was the smart idea? Why didn’t he bring his own bike to ABA? Why the hell is he standing there with nothing to say, watching his idol stroll closer with a dumb look on his face. 

Carbonell comes to a halt just within arm’s reach, maybe a half-stride away from being chest to chest. He’s close enough that he has to tilt his head back a little, chin rising up, so that his dark eyes can fix on James’s ocean-colored ones. His smile is cool, flirtatious, and he’s as poised as one would expect a seasoned dancer to be. 

Mostly James is currently obsessing over the fact that Carbonell would fit under his chin easy as anything. If they were the type of people that knew each other, that hung out, that called each other friend… Well, James would have a hard time not folding that guy into a hug every chance he got. The invitation to wrap himself around the shorter male was just too tempting to ignore, or at least, it would be if they were friends that shared those kinds of privileges. 

_‘Lock it down, Barnes…’_

Antonio Carbonell licks his lips, tilting his head faintly in the bright sun. It sends a few loose locks of his wavy hair tumbling over his brow, hanging into his face in a mildly disheveled look that is more along the lines of heart-stoppingly alluring than actual disarray. He’d probably be gorgeous mildly or even thoroughly rumpled. 

_‘Lock it_ **_down_ ** _, Barnes… Oh my god,’_ James thinks as he stares at the man, stares _down_ at the man, his jaw more than a little slack. _‘He really is compact…’_

Considering how unlikely it is for a shorter person to excel in ballet, the fact that James is easily a head taller than one of the greatest dancers in the world is _dizzying_. He’s never seen the man perform in person, but video and photo evidence easily relays how electrifying a stage presence Carbonell is. The fact that James is standing beside him on the sidewalk on his first day has already rendered his last two years of hard work worth it. 

“I like your style,” Antonio smirks and gives a graceful flick of his fingers. He’s just shy of touching the zipper of James’s leather jacket, and in case the gesture was misinterpreted he follows it up with an approving nod. 

James grins, gives a soft helpful laugh and tries to stifle his inner monologue. _‘Oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod.’_

“Thanks,” James manages weakly, trying to affect nonchalance even though he’s practically toe to toe with one of the greatest dancers in history. A dancer who, coincidentally, is James’s ideal type and also outrageously attractive. “I thought it’d be kinda a unique angle for a ballerino ta take. ‘S a good thing, right? Most a’ my street clothes look like this, no change needed. Problem is, best friend is just as bad. And now I get ta’ tell him that we both showed up at this dance dressed like you.” 

“At least we’re not playing ‘who wore it better’,” The principal dancer pointed out with a cheerful lilt. “That never seems to go well for anyone, and you guys probably have an advantage over me.”

“Not sure it’s good enough to outweigh the home-field advantage,” James argues shyly. “Or the Fanclub.” 

“They’re strictly for duels to the death, and possibly State functions… But I wouldn’t get them involved in this.” The handsome man argues with a gentle smile and a tilt of his head, sunlight glinting on the whiskey-bronze hue of his eyes. “You’re probably safe. New student? Welcome to ABA.” 

“Ah, yeah, thanks,” James laughs awkwardly, looking down at his boots for a moment before giving a shy nod. He can’t help but steal glances at Carbonell, hiding behind his lashes for a moment to try and regain equilibrium before he looks at the man head-on once again. “I’m James, my buddy and I just got in through tha Brooklyn Auditions.”

“The locals are always latecomers,” Antonio nods in understanding and gestures to the trio of bags at James’s feet. “And I guessed, considering the accent. Need a hand with all that?” 

_‘Did he just offer to help you with your bags?’_ James brain squeaks while he manages to awkwardly blurt out a refusal. “Naw Doll, I’m good.” 

He freezes as soon as the words are out of his mouth, shooting Carbonell a look of mortified apology. “I, that is, uh…” 

“No?” Now the man looks both amused and surprised, a dark brow arching up in question. 

“I mean, ah, no thank you,” James mumbles, clearing his throat and stifling the urge to blush. 

“Alright… Well, James, I guess I’ll see ya around,” With a grin and a shrug that sort of telegraphs _c’est la vie_ , he departs, striding up the nearby staircase and heading for the front doors. 

“Right…” James sighs to himself as he watches Carbonell disappear into the building. “Right. I’m an _idiot_.” 

Steve may not believe anything else about the conversation, but he’s sure to believe _that._

*

Settling into their dorms goes just fine, and even classes are an easy routine to fall into. Mostly because dance class here is the same as dance class for nearly anywhere else. Namely, it starts sometime in the morning and takes up nearly the whole day, in one fashion or another. Hours in the studio, in either integrated classes or gender-specific ones, meant the dancers saw a lot of each other and it wasn’t long before friendships formed. 

There’s a strange little cluster of them now, expanding beyond James and Steve. The first to join in their group was Sam, their new roommate. Sam is an interesting sort, smirking and witty, darkly handsome and all the way from Washington. His leaps are as good as free-flight, so James takes to calling him Falcon and joking about how his kicks would be lethal. Sam just smirks and tells them to watch out, African American dancers are about to take over the ballet scene and white boys have every right to be scared. Steve agreed with him at the start, and James is sure they’re never gonna get rid of the guy now that they’re friends. Steve’s a real never leave a man behind sort, and Sam seems cut from the same cloth. 

Never far behind was Natalia, more of an old friend than a new one. James had known Natalia for over a year now, and Steve had been friends with her for over two. The vibrant redhead was originally from Russia, she never seemed to give in to the stress of their schedule or their instructor's expectations. Then again, poise under pressure was to be expected. She had been a student at the Academy for three years now and was half the reason Steve and James auditioned in the first place. It was different, to be around her again, but her cool Russian humor and biting commentary was always welcome in James’s corner. Steve liked to loudly joke he hated when they teamed up, but the two of them utterly remorseless when reprimanded. 

With Natalia came Clint, a self-proclaimed circus freak from nowhere. Visually Clint was average, even startlingly average in some ways. The man was of moderate height, his hair a sandy brown color, his skin a medium tan, and his eyes a neutral shade of blue. He looks like someone that could make a career out of being everything, or nothing, or just being utterly forgettable. Sam says he’s probably a spy, but they get on so well James begins to think of both of them as bird brains. Still, Clint can turn a handstand like none of them have ever seen, and the word is there’s nothing he can’t hit with a bow and arrow, or while throwing knives. He says that they used to call him Hawkeye because of it, and that’s one of the things James doesn’t doubt. There’s no arguing it, he’s got skills. He’s constantly on the move, often bolting out of a ballet class to disappear into the city. Whether it’s to take alternative classes, shoot things, or see a boyfriend, no one has figured out yet. 

Gwen lurks at the edges of their group, quietly warning them as new students to stay away from people like Sue Storm and her pompous boyfriend Reed Richards. Most of them followed her advice without argument since day one, perhaps because they’d known Gwen was one of them. Sue is one of the Legacy Ladies, a group of girls that dance because their mothers did. Unsurprisingly, most of them are from well-off families and look down their noses at anyone they find to be of lesser quality. Thankfully they tend to stick to their own little clique, talking with like-minded guys or sneering at the rest of the class.

Gwen went and foot swept one of them two days in, and earned herself a place in Natalia’s good book in perpetuity. It wasn’t long before the redhead was towing her over, and making soft promises that sooner or later her boyfriend would be one of them too. The petite blonde had only laughed and made herself at home among their ranks. She’s one of the best, Steve constantly proclaims, and they generally agree. With extension they all concur is amazing and a rebellious undercut to her blond shoulder-length hair, Gwen’s eye-catching especially _en pointe_. The lack of a traditional style might get her in trouble if she were less of a dancer, but most of the time one doesn’t notice it, and she really is _that_ good. 

Aside from herself and Gwen, Natalia brings along a few friends she’s made over the years. Sometimes they visit, sometimes they stay and become fixtures in a conversation, slowly building up the core group. Two of them, Hope and Val, promise to become long-standing friends. Both are long-time students of ABA, Hope having joined the company as a child, and both of them have known Natalia for the duration of her time at ABA. Val for her part was a slightly later transfer, but her background in jazz and tap give her depth that many of the other girls can’t match. 

Bronze hair cropped in a pixie cut and a background in fashion that leads to her constantly offering to design costumes, Hope Van Dyne is one of the students that’s been dancing all her life. She’s a Legacy Lady but not an arrogant one. Instead, she’s humble or quiet about being a second-generation dancer, possibly because she’s admitted she’s often pushed to succeed by a mother that never made it out of the choral line. Carrying the weight of her mother’s dreams, Hope aims to be picked up as a principal for one of the large American dance companies through the next showcase. She isn’t ashamed of it, either. 

Copper skinned and dark-haired, Val is easy one of the tallest ballerinas in the classes. It makes sense that her nickname is Valkyrie, considering she can hold her liquor and handle herself in a bar fight if Natalia is to be believed. She has, more than once, shown a ballerino how to successfully perform a lift by hauling them up onto one of her shoulders like it’s nothing. It makes her daunting, to say the least. Val’s a little devil may care and a little immovable object in her daily life, but she’s also the first to step in and help a new kid if they’re floundering. 

James looks around their usually-crowded lunch table and grins at them all, hoping that Gwen can talk Parker into skipping out on his usual group to sit with them now and then. As it stands they’re pretty evenly balanced, but every now and then he can see Natalia scanning the group like she’s looking for the next person to recruit to their own unofficial company. 

It’d be scary if it wasn’t so awesome. 

Mid-day on a Thursday means the guys have run-throughs in Studio 4, one of the larger ones in the building. James and Steve had been in the third group to perform the choreography and promptly abandoned their classmates at the sight of Natalia, Hope and Val clustering in the doorway. As they settle into the doorframe and mutter their greetings, Natalia glances up the hallway and then begins unsubtly poking her friends in the ribs. All of them turn or lean out in the hall to watch the approach of a slender woman, with hair like bright copper pennies and a serene smile. 

“Hello everyone,” She murmurs as she draws even to them, giving a nod. “Natalia, Val, Hope.”

“Hi Pepper,” Nat smiles, giving a coy flutter of one hand. 

“Have a good day,” The older redhead gives a wink and continues on past, leaving them gaping in her wake. 

It’s Steve that squeaks, wide-eyed with shock as he stares after her. “Oh my god, that was Virginia Potts wasn’t it?” 

" _The_ Virginia Potts?” James stares at the retreating figure as she greets other ballerinas down the hall. “Really?” 

“The very same.” Hope chirps with a wide grin. 

“Wow,” James mumbles. “She’s beautiful.” 

Steve looks intrigued and puzzled. “I heard she retired?”

Val nods, decisive and a little sharp.“She did. Danvers is the new _prima_.” 

As though she’s summoned by the word, Sue Storm stops at the doorway, eyeing them and the still-retreating back of the retired ballerina. It’s clear she can guess the topic of conversation, her blue eyes going sharp. “She’s not all that.”

“No one asked you,” Val points out, her tone heavy with faux sweetness. “Thankfully we’re capable of making up our own minds and don’t need you to tell us what to think. Isn’t that what you have Richards for?” 

Sue visibly bristles, gearing up for a sharp reply when they’re interrupted. 

“Hey everyone!” Perhaps sensing the impending explosion, Sam appears at their backs, fresh off his run through in class. They greet him with nods and smiles, Hope handing over a bottle of water. “Where’s Gwen?”

“On her way,” Val rolled her shoulders in a shrug as Sue broke their staredown, and she was visibly smug when she grinned at the newly arrived ballerino. “Hiya Sam. Gwen was dancing in the latter group and sent us on ahead to pick you guys up.” 

“Cool cool. You’re an angel,” Sam grins at Hope, making grabby hands until he can curl his fingers around the plastic. 

“Please.” Natalia rolls her eyes, her disdain for Sue self-evident as she turns to Steve with a grin. “Back to our previous subject. Steve, you know she’s married to Director Rhodes, right?” 

“Who did what?” Sam asks, guzzling water with a grateful sigh. “Seriously, Hope, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t I know it,” Hope sassed, tossing a towel at his face. “We’re talking about Virginia Potts.” 

“No way!” Sam gasps, struggling to yank the towel back down so he can gaze at her in shock. “I thought she was dating Carbonell!”

“Can you move?” Sue finally snaps. “I want to see Reed’s run-through.”

“Why would you wanna do a thing like that?” James asks with faux innocence, smirking in spite of the elbow Steve plants in his ribs. 

Val snorts a laugh, grinning at James and bumping fists at him when he offered one to her. “Nice.” 

“Sure we can.” Hope chirps quickly, moving into the hall and toward a convenient alcove housing a trio of benches. “Come on.”

“Might as well, since we don’t want to see Richards,” Natalia taunts as they depart, ignoring the glare the blonde woman shoots her. 

They’re down the hall in a matter of minutes, settling into the alcove while trading friendly shoves. With a laugh, James folds his legs under him for a moment and settles onto the floor, Steve perching on the bench nearest to him. Natalia and Sam take the middle seat, and Hope and Val claim on the last one. Hope dives back into the gossip without hesitation, leaning close and smirking wickedly. “Anyway, Antonio and Pepper -her friends get to call her Pepper- used to be an item. I think they dated for a few years. Word is, out of nowhere, she tells Antonio it’s over and marries Rhodes in this huge ceremony this summer.”

Val nods, looking intense but not exactly delighted to be continuing the narrative. “The story is that’s why Carbonell took off for California for the season. They say he was dating everyone who’d ever set foot on stage. Now he’s back here to oversee some of the advanced students in the workshop, and they’re all just waiting for things to explode.” 

“If it’s true, it’s understandable,” Natalia points out. “But it doesn’t sound solid. I’m sure there’s a lot missing, even if what we’ve heard is correct.” 

“I heard he hasn’t talked to anyone,” Hope volunteers, voice softening slightly.

“He talked to me,” James says without thinking, half-way through stretching out his right leg. 

Natalia freezes, staring at him wide-eyed when he looks up. “What?” 

“He, uh,” James flounders a bit, avoiding Steve’s enraptured stare. Suddenly the jokes about them wearing leather jackets and Antonio’s Fanclub don’t seem like things he wants to share. “Ah, when I got here the first day… He offered to help me with my bags, that’s all.”

Hope gives him an appraising look, head tilted to one side. “Huh… Interesting.” 

James is beyond grateful when the conversation subsides into a bewildered sort of silence. He has no idea why he volunteered the information, it had just slipped out, and the last thing he wanted was to be on the receiving end of one of Natalia’s interrogations. 

“So,” Steve finally chimed in. “Who’s excited about the Gala Benefit?” 

“The performance is sure to be interesting,” Val offers neutrally.

“Yes, Carbonell will be dancing…” Natalia smirks directly at James. “With Danvers.” 

So then, the topic wasn’t as dead as he might have hoped. _Great_.

*****

James may be up in the balcony, but he’s still seeing Antonio Carbonell dance live. Seeing Antonio Carbonell dance in New York, on stage, in person. For free, even, which makes this the new best day of his life. True enough the view would be better from backstage, but he’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even at a distance, he can admire the grace of the dancer’s movements, of each sweeping gesture and the way Antonio expresses emotion in such a way that the audience can easily feel it along with him. 

The man is just as beautiful as the photos and videos have led him to believe, and James leans against the railing shamelessly to watch. Ten minutes into the performance even Steve had thankfully stopped smirking at his obvious infatuation. Which was perfectly understandable, considering Danvers has once again returned to the stage by stepping onto Juliet’s own balcony. The golden-haired woman makes a show of glancing around, then steps as close to the rail as possible and extends her arms in a graceful, wordless plea to the man on the ground below her. 

Danvers is beautiful, James can see that even from here. The soft pink of her costume and the pale blue of the lights do nothing to detract from her, her smile wide and bright as her arms stretch toward her Romeo. Of course, Romeo beams back. From the floor of the stage Carbonell’s grin is wide and infectious and his dark wavy hair artfully tousled. 

Truth be told, James can easily imagine defying one’s family wishes for the sake of a date with him. With a sigh he leans forward as Carbonell leaps into motion, crossing the stage in graceful strides and reaching up to Juliet with the elegant sweep of one arm. Danvers gives the impression of stretching and then sighing, disappointed she can’t quite reach him. A moment later he steps back, gesturing an invitation for her to join him on the stage rather than watching from above, and prompting her to disappear inside the building. 

James smiles at the sudden concern Carbonell manages to telegraph, watching as the man cautiously steps up to the open doorway to peer inside. With no Juliet in appearance, he retreats, performing a series of leaps and spins across the stage as he waits for his partner to join him. Compact or not, the man’s practically flying. Carbonell commands attention, his leaps high and smooth, each extension of leg or arm gracefully poised. 

Then Danvers is down on the stage floor, reaching for him, and James braces himself for the _pas de deux_. 

_‘Not like I’m already head over heels for the guy or anything,’_ He thinks weakly. 

*

Still flying from the performance he witnessed, James drifts around the gala with a basket of worn toe-shoes over one arm. He shoots smiles at the black-tie clad guests, smiling at the upper-class as they flutter and spin around him. His classmates are likewise engaged, roving around the room with their own baskets as they try to encourage New York’s wealthy to donate to the school. Most of the elite have glasses of wine or champagne in hand, some beckon him over to their table to for an explanation of the fundraiser. 

Though they haven’t been at it long, James is pleased with his results. Already he has managed to sell several pairs, both those signed by Danvers and Potts, the current and former _prima_ ballerinas for ABC. Hoping for a few minutes of peace he takes to wandering around the edge of the dance floor and off toward a far corner of the offered sitting area. The tables are largely empty beyond floral arrangements and place settings, and before an empty chair can tempt James into sitting down he turns around to head back across the room. Taking a sliding step around one of the nearest chairs while trying to avoid a nearby support column, he promptly bumps into a tuxedo-clad guest. 

“Sorry!” He winces as he offers a steadying hand to the gentleman’s elbow, sweeping the basket handle to the crook of his left elbow to keep it out of the way as the guy turns to face him. “Excuse me, that was entirely my fault.”

“No harm, no foul,” Antonio Carbonell grins up at him, smile wicked. He’s showered and dressed in black-tie finery, and just as beautiful as he was on stage as Romeo. Maybe more so, in spite of the lack of stage lights and makeup, because he’s only inches away. “My fault, I probably should have announced that I was following you. But, in my defense, I was trying to think of a relatively decent way to start a conversation that didn’t involve ‘hey there, I’ve been following you’ as an opener.” 

James laughs, helplessly charmed as he looks down into those dark eyes. “How is that workin’ out for you, Mr. Carbonell?”

“I’ve failed miserably, but I’m strangely okay with it. How about we just skip past that? Hey, it’s nice to see you again, James.” The dancer gives a grin and a wink. “How are things going at ABA?” 

James is struck by the fact that Carbonell’s lashes are outrageously long, his eyes dark and mischievous in the lights of the hall. Before he can think of some sort of answer to Carbonell’s question, there’s a distant exclamation that promises to interrupt their conversation. “There he is now!” 

The obnoxious tone cuts into their quiet bubble of space, the new party calling from James’s right, and he looks up in time to see the arrival of Justin Hammer, one of the school financiers, Scott Lang one of James’s ABA instructors, and a woman that is likely a wealthy widow. The disappointment is nearly overwhelming, but he tries not to let it show on his face. 

Hammer doesn’t notice him, too busy focusing on Carbonell. “Tony!”

James drops his hold and ducks his head, giving a bashful nod at the newly arrived party. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tony’s face takes on a pinched expression but swiftly smooths out in a smile. It’s a pale imitation of the one he’d give Danvers an hour ago, or the one James received only seconds past. There’s something inherently soothing in the knowledge. 

“Tony, Tony,” Hammer continues yammering. “I was just talking to your biggest fan, aside from me. And look, one of our students, how nice!” 

Scott gives Hammer a cutting look, then offers James a sympathetic smile. 

“Ah, not that it’s important to know their names,” Hammer waves it off, and James feels his hackles rise as his shoulders go taunt. “There are so many of them, after all.” 

It’s clear that Hammer wants him gone, but James takes the opportunity to treat the scenario as an insult rather than a dismissal. 

“James Barnes,” He interrupts smoothly, cutting in sharply before Hammer can ramble on. “Happy to be here this evening in support of the Academy fundraiser.” 

“James is a very promising student,” Carbonell chimes in. “You don’t need to keep track of him, Hammer, I’m sure there’s something else that you could be doing. However, I’ve had my eye on him since his first day.” 

It’s a bit of an exaggeration, but there’s a blush creeping up James’s cheeks in spite of it. “I’m flattered, Sir.”

“Oh come now, James,” The dancer gives him a wicked grin. “We’re friends, _you_ may call me Tony.” 

“Right, Tony,” James ignores the glare Hammer’s giving, smiling. “I appreciate it. Still, I know you’re very busy. Listen, I’ll let you get back to the party. Scott, Ma’am.” 

“See you later, James,” Scott offers an encouraging nod, but his expression telegraphs his own desperation to escape the awkward company. 

“Yes, Sir,” James teases because it at least makes Scott roll his eyes, and he doesn’t feel so bad when he turns his back on the man to head back to work. 

“Hey James,” Tony interjects before he can go far. And of course, James glances back because he can’t not, and his heart leaps into his throat at the glint in Tony’s eyes. 

“Yeah?” 

“You owe me a dance later,” Tony purrs. “Because I said so. Don’t go far.” 

“Right,” James manages to mumble and makes his escape before Hammer can annoy him any further. 

As he crosses the room he can see Steve gesturing him out a side door, and he decides he’s more than earned a break. With nothing to lose he steps out after his best friend, grinning at the sight of Hope and Natalia waiting. Natalia beams back, catching his wrist and towing him along. 

“Come on, this way.” She says with a mysterious laugh as she leads them down the hallway and through an unmarked door. “There’s something you should see.” 

A tangle of hallways later and they’re backstage, winding their way through curtains and partitions. A moment more and they’re spilling onto the main stage, staring out into the audience of the hall. James realizes abruptly that he can see where he was sitting. Their view of the hall is unobstructed with the house lights off, the current configuration offering minimal lighting on the stage and scattered around the room. 

Off of stage left, James can see the balcony from tonight’s performance, and it makes him grin. “Wow, Romanova, this isn’t bad at all.” 

“Get over here and lift me,” Natalia demands as Steve obligingly spins Hope in his arms to their right. “We might as well make the most of it, hmm?” 

“That seems to be the general motto of the evening,” James says agreeably and sets aside his basket. “Alright then, you’re on.” 

“Then we can talk about the fact that Antonio Carbonell hasn’t stopped looking at you all night,” Natalia throws out just as James’s hands settle on her hips. 

“You want me to lift you, or to throw you into the orchestra?” James growls, ears flaring red with the immediate blush. 

Natalia laughs. “You better not, your boyfriend just walked in the side door. Now, lift me nicely for our imaginary audience, and then you and he can escape while poor Steve and Hope and I go back to selling shoes to rich people.” 

James glances up long enough to see Tony, and then obligingly sweeps Natalia into a graceful lift above his head. “Who’s side are you on, Tash?”

“Mine,” She sweeps her arms up over her head, grinning at their audience of one, and then gracefully slides down to stand en pointe as James lowers her down to the stage. A moment later she relaxes and stands flat, patting him gently as his hands withdraw from her hips. “My side says a Spring wedding, upstate New York. Now run along, he’s waiting.” 

“Nat,”

“Barnes,” She cuts in, sharp and final. “Stop dancing around it and just go talk to the man. As ridiculous as this may sound, I’m pretty sure you guys are made for each other.” 

“Hey Gorgeous,” Tony calls from the door, hands in the pockets of his suit and a smile on his face. “You owe me a dance.”

“Yeah,” James agrees with Nat, jumping the short flight of stairs off stage right and landing in the aisle that will lead him right to the ballerino. “It kinda feels that way.”

“Take care of him, or they’ll never find the body!” Natalia yells as Steve and Hope giggle from the stage. 

“Bite me, Natalia!” James grumbles as he closes the gap between himself and Tony, though he can’t help but grin at the sight of the shorter man. “Wow… Hi, again.” 

“Sorry, what was that?” Tony asks with a grin and a curious tilt of his head when they’re face to face again. “Didn’t quite catch it.” 

“Nothin’ important,” James waves it off. “I was thinking maybe you and I would get out of here instead.” 

“Ditch the black tie?” Tony visibly perks, dark eyes lighting with excitement. “I’m in, let’s go.” 

“Just like that?”

“Gorgeous, I’m pretty sure I’d follow you anywhere.” 

James watches the man step into his space, smile widening as he shakes his head. “Shouldn’t a famous dancer have a little more self-preservation?” 

“It’s a major fault of mine, ask Pepper or Rhodey and they’ll tell you the same.” Tony agrees without hesitation, looping one of his arms around James’s right and cuddling close. “You’ll have to protect me from my impulse control issues.” 

“Well now,” James muses, the two of them moving together toward the double doors to exit the hall. “That sounds like a full-time job, Sugar. But I promise to do my best.” 

"Let's just say you should stay on your toes, hmm?"

"Ballet puns, really?"

"Darling, you have **no** idea." 

**Author's Note:**

> I admit there's probably going to be a follow-up or companion piece to this, from Tony's side of things. There's an image of him and Natalia breaking in their toe shoes that just won't leave!


End file.
